Part 17 (2/2)

They'd have killed you there. Save the mill hands now just for me, Grey, just for Jack o' Lantern, because I'm deceiving them at last.”

The warm, soft nose still snuggled against his ear. The horse seemed actually to understand. In a flash the boy determined to tie the lantern to the animal's neck. Then, in another flash, he realized that he had nothing with which to secure it there. The horse had not an inch of halter or tie line on him. An inspiration came to him like an answer to prayer, and within two seconds he acted upon it. Ripping off his coat, he flung it over the horse's neck, the sleeves hanging down beneath the animal's throat. Slipping one through the ring handle of the lantern, he knotted them together. The horse lifted his head, and the lantern swung clear and brilliant almost under the soft, warm nostrils.

”Get up there, old Grey! Get up!” shouted the boy desperately, ”clicking” with his tongue the well-known sound to start a horse on the go. ”Get up! And oh, Grey, go to the danger spot, nowhere else.

The danger spot, quick! Get up!”

The animal turned, and slowly mounted the broken ledge of earth and rock. Jacky watched with strained, aching eyes until the light disappeared over the bluff. Then his agonized knees collapsed. His shoulders, with no warmth except the thin s.h.i.+rt-sleeves to cover them, began to sting, then ache, then grow numb. Once more he huddled into a limp little heap, and this time his eyes closed.

”Do you know, father, I'm anxious about Jacky,” said Mrs. Moran, as they sat down to supper without the boy. ”He's never come back since he started with the lantern, and it's such an awful night. I'm afraid something has happened to him.”

”Why, nothing could have happened,” answered Mr. Moran. ”The lantern was burning at the 'death-hole' all right as we crossed the ice.”

”Then why isn't Jacky home long ago?” asked Mrs. Moran. ”He never goes to Andy's at this hour. He is always on time for supper. I don't like it, Tom, one bit. The night is too bad for him not to have come directly home. There, hear that wind.” As she spoke the gale swept around the bend of the river, and the house rocked with the full force of the storm.

Tom Moran shoved back his chair, leaving his meal half finished. ”That's so,” said he, a little anxiously, as he got into his heavy coat. ”I'll go up sh.o.r.e and see. Oh, there's Alick now, and 'Old Mack,'” as a thundering knock fell on the door. ”They said they were coming over after supper for a talk with me.” Then, as the door burst open, and the big foreman, accompanied by ”Old Mack,” shouldered their way into the room, Tom Moran added: ”Say, boys, the kid ain't home, and his mother is getting nervous about him. Will you two fellows take a turn around the bend with me to hunt him up?”

”What!” yelled the big foreman. ”Our little Jack o' Lantern out in this blizzard? You better believe we'll go with you, Tom. And what's more, we'll go right now. Hustle up, boys.” And Alick Duncan strode out again, with a frown of anxiety knitting his usually jovial face.

”Lantern's there all right,” he shouted, as they neared the bank above the danger spot. He was a few yards in advance of Jack's father and ”Old Mack.” Then suddenly he stood stock still, gave vent to a long, explosive whistle, and yelled, ”Well, I'll be gin-busted! Look a' there, boys!” And following his astounded gaze, they saw, on the brink of the river, an old grey horse, with down-hanging head, his back to the gale, and about his neck a boy's coat, from the knotted sleeves of which was suspended a lighted lantern.

Tom Moran was at the animal's side instantly. ”His mother was right,” he cried. ”Something has happened to Jacky.” And he began searching about wildly.

”Now look here, Tom,” said the big foreman, ”keep your boots on, and take this thing easy. If that horse knows enough to stand there a-waiting for the boy, he knows enough to help us find him. We'll just pretend to lead him home, and see what he'll do.” And relieving the horse of the lantern, he tied the little coat closer about the long throat, and, using it as a halter, induced the grey to follow him. Down the bank from the danger spot they went, round the bend to the footpath, along the trail for fifty yards. Then the horse stopped. ”Come on here!

Get up!” urged the big foreman, as he strained at the coat sleeve. But the horse stood perfectly still, and refused to be coaxed further. ”I'll bet Jack o' Lantern is around here somewhere. Jack o'--oh, Jack o'!” he shouted, for Tom Moran's throat was choked. He could not call the boy's name.

”Jack o' Lantern--where are you?” reiterated Alick Duncan. But there was no reply.

Meanwhile ”Old Mack” had been snooping around the hollows at one side of the trail, and Jacky's father was peering about the ledges opposite.

Presently he stopped, leaned over, and with love-sharpened eyesight, saw a little, dark heap far below lying in the snow. ”There's something here, boys,” he called brokenly.

Alick Duncan sprang to the ledge, looked over, made a strange sound with his throat, and with an icy fear in his great heart, that never had known fear before, he laid his big hand on Tom Moran's shoulder and said, ”Stay here, Tom. I'll go. It will be better for _me_ to go.” And slipping over the ledge, he dropped down beside the unconscious boy.

In another minute he was rubbing the cold hands, rousing the dormant senses. Presently Jacky spoke, and with a shout of delight the big foreman lifted the boy in his huge arms, and, struggling up the uneven ledge, he shouted, ”He's all O.K., Tom--just kind of laid out, but still in the fight.”

With the familiar voice in his ears, Jacky's senses returned, for, lifting his head, he cried, ”Oh, Mr. Duncan, did Grey-Boy take the lantern to the danger-spot?”

”Bet your boots he did, son,” said Tom Moran, stretching down his arms to help the big foreman lift his burden. ”We found him standing still and firm as a flag pole, with that light hoisted under his chin.”

”Thank goodness!” sighed the boy. ”Oh, I was _so_ afraid he'd go home with it, instead of to the river.” Then, with a little gasp, ”Mr.

Duncan, I told you once Grey had as much sense as a man. He saved you.”

”No, Jack o' Lantern,” said the big foreman gently, as he wrapped his great coat around the half-frozen boy, ”no, siree, it was you, and your quick wits, that did it. Old Grey got the lantern habit, but it would have done no good had you not had sense enough to sling the light around his neck; and you leaving yourself to freeze here without a coat--bless you, youngster! The mill hands and this big Scotchman won't forget _that_ in a hurry.”

And it was on faithful old Grey's back that the injured boy rode home--home to warm blankets, warm supper, and the warm love of his mother, but also to the knowledge that one of the smaller bones in his ankle had broken when he heard that snapping sound. But it did not take so long to mend, after all, and one day in the early spring the big foreman appeared, his shrewd eyes twinkling with fun, although he made the grave statement that Andy had at last consented to sell old Grey.

”It isn't true! It can't be true!” gasped Jacky. ”Sell Grey-Boy after what he did to save the mill hands? Oh! I _can't_ believe Andy would do such a thing.” And his thin little face went white, and his poor foot dragged as he stood erect, as if to fight for the horse's rights.

”But Andy has sold him, nevertheless,” grinned Alick Duncan, ”sold him to me and the other mill hands, and we're going to give him away.”

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